Dan and Frankie and the End of Everything

by Richard Langridge

  Instead of answering, Jonesy suddenly shot up Frankie’s arm, perching itself on his shoulder like a parrot. Only it was worse than that, because this parrot was a severed hand, one whose disproportionately large penis hung down over Frankie’s shoulder like a sports towel flung there after a good workout.

  Christ, look at it. It’s like a goddamn fireman’s hose. How does it even walk with that thing?

  We waddled back over to the car.

  I lifted the trunk.

  So here’s probably the perfect time to tell you we had taken a little detour before making our way over to Uncle Ger’s Emergency Cache. And by “detour”, I mean we had driven to a building I thought I would never visit again, for reasons that would be obvious to you if you knew the sorts of things I did about the people who worked there.

  In the end, it had taken surprisingly little effort to get him to come outside. A single text, in fact.

  Then, the second he’d stepped out through the doors, we’d thrown a bag over his head and bundled him protesting into the trunk, whereupon I had swiftly set about smacking him with a snow-shovel—not that doing so was exactly necessary, per se, but I like to keep all my bases covered. And besides, it had felt pretty good.

  I stared down at him.

  ‘Hello, Brett. Been a while.’

  Brett regarded me from the trunk’s floor with glowing eyes.

  Once upon a time, we had been colleagues, he and I, back when I had still worked for Baxter & Klein, and all this ridiculous bullshit had yet to begin. He would come over to my cubicle, irritate me for a little while, before disappearing off again to go photocopy his balls or whatever. I don’t mean to make it sound like we were friends, or anything like that—we weren’t. Far from it. In fact, I liked him a whole lot more as a Phony than I ever did as Human Brett.

  He’d evidently somehow managed to remove the bag from his head, despite the fact his hands were bound. Did I mention he was a Phony yet? Yeah.

  ‘MMMMFFFF!’ said Brett.

  I blinked. ‘What? I can’t understand you.’

  ‘MMMMMMMFFFFFFF!’

  Really trying, now. Body thrashing like a shark’s washed up on the shore, desperate to get back into the water.

  Frankie and I shared a glance.

  ‘Looks like he’s trying to say something, Dan.’

  I nodded. ‘I wonder what he’s trying to say.’

  ‘I think he wants us to hit him with the shovel again.’

  Brett suddenly stopped thrashing, eyes wide and staring.

  I grunted. ‘That’s better. Now, I’m going to remove this tape. If I see so much as a single tentacle, you’re getting a salt facial—understand?’

  Slow nod from Brett.

  ‘Well, good. Now hold still.’

  I reached into the trunk and, with a brisk jerk of my arm, ripped the tape from his mouth.

  ‘Thundering vag-belch!’ he cried. ‘Did you have to be so rough?’

  I blinked. ‘Oh—sorry.’

  Frankie elbowed me.

  ‘I mean—eat a dick, Brett!’

  ‘Seriously. I think my lips are bleeding...’

  ‘Oh, shut up. You know you can’t bleed. Quit being so dramatic—or would you like us to put it back on?’

  Frantic head-shake from Brett.

  ‘Okay. Now, we have some questions for you. Cooperate, and we’ll let you go. However, should you choose to be a dick and not cooperate, we’ll be forced to use Jonesy here to extract the information. And believe us when we tell you that is a process you do not want any part of.’

  Yeah, as it turned out, apart from holding the record for the most impressive penis-to-body ratio ever, Jonesy could also read minds—something Frankie and I had discovered one late night, the details of which I am still very much reluctant to talk about. Let’s just say there are some things in life you just can’t un-experience, and leave it at that.

  Brett was silent a moment as he considered this.

  ‘What kind of questions? Like math?’

  ‘We want to know where Boot and the others plan to breach a hole into the Neverwas,’ I said. I leaned forward. ‘And you’re going to tell us.’

  He looked suddenly terrified—I mean, as much as a trans-dimensional body-snatcher could. ‘But... you don’t understand. I don’t do that kind of work anymore. I’m out. Seriously—how would I know where she’s going?’

  Frankie and I exchanged glances.

  ‘You know, Dan, I think he’s telling the truth,’ said Frankie. ‘Guess we don’t need him, after all.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He put his hand on the trunk-lid. ‘So long, Brett. Been nice catching up.’

  He made as if to slam it, but Brett suddenly jerked bolt-upright.

  ‘Wait!’

  We waited.

  He sighed. ‘Look, I do know where she is, okay? But I can’t tell you. If I tell you, I’m a fucking dead man. Seriously, that girl may look harmless, but she’s a fucking psychopath. She’ll kill the shit out of me.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to care?’

  ‘Please, Dan! Just let me go—for old times’ sake, huh? What do you say?’

  I stared down into the trunk at him, hands balled into fists.

  Old times’ sake? What, you mean the time you put bleach in my coffee? Or the time you found out I liked Lindsay Bacherman, and then went and told her I had genital warts, and that it was terminal? How about the time you put industrial-strength glue on my chair? You mean those times, Brett? Hmm?

  I grabbed him.

  I don’t know what I was thinking. Probably, I wasn’t. All I know is one moment he was in the trunk, squinting up at me with his stupid little jelly-eyes. The next he was falling out onto the snow, landing with a thump, a crumpled bundle of bound limbs.

  Now, I know what you’re thinking, and no I didn’t go to town on him or anything like that. I mean, Jesus, I’m not Bruce Willis. Even if I didn’t have the physical strength of a nine-year-old girl, I drew the line at beating up on people who were simply unable to fight back—which was a lie, of course, but felt reassuring all the same. Mostly, I was afraid that, even with his wrists and ankles cable-tied, he’d still somehow manage to get the drop on me. I didn’t want to take that chance.

  I kicked snow at him instead.

  ‘OLD TIMES?!’ I cried, spit flying from my mouth like a crazy person. I punted a mound by his head, showering him in snow. ‘FUCKING OLD TIMES?!’

  Brett recoiled as snow rained down on him. ‘Hey! Stop that!’

  But I would not stop.

  The red haze of fury stole in over my vision, clouding everything in sight.

  This was it—my mental breakdown. The one that had been brewing ever since the night we had first broken into Mr Stewart’s house and drawn penises on his paintings and furniture and whatever. The scale had finally tipped into the crazy zone—as it was always going to anyway.

  This—this was my Björk moment.

  Watch out, world. Here comes Dan, the snow-kicker!

  ‘ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!’

  I felt a hand on my arm suddenly and turned.

  Frankie.

  He looked concerned—and rightfully so. I was a crazy person now.

  ‘Dan—stop! He’s had enough!’

  I reached down and turned Brett over.

  I put our faces together.

  ‘TELL US WHERE SHE IS!’

  Brett’s chest hitched. Like he was crying, only not really, because he was smiling, too. And laughing.

  So that was weird.

  He tilted his face towards the sky. ‘You stupid fools! You’re already too late—don’t you see? We have the Naoggrath. Soon, our fearless King, Boot, will punch a hole into the Neverwas, and then—oohhhhh then, my friends—then you will know true horror. The sky will turn red. Men and women and children will be pulled apart on the streets like meaty piñatas, their innards quickly gobbled up like candy. The creatures of darkness will spill over onto this plane and ravage it in the bli
nk of an eye—all whilst She watches and laughs.

  He threw his head back and cackled.

  Frankie and I shared a glance.

  I nodded.

  He turned and looked at Jonesy perched on his shoulder, whose penis I noted was still way larger than it realistically ought to have been. I mean, goddamn. ‘Okay. Now—just like we talked about. Go on.’

  Some stuff happened then. Stuff I don’t want to overly go into, if I’m honest, for reasons I also don’t wish to elaborate on. What I will say, however, is that Jonesy climbed down from Frankie’s shoulder and quickly made its way over to a still-laughing Brett.

  Then things got... weird.

  Like, really weird. Again, I don’t want to get into specifics.

  There was some crying. Some screaming. Some—for lack of a better word—“docking”, as Jonesy quickly latched itself onto Brett’s petrified face and got to work.

  It didn’t take long for us to get what we wanted.

  ‘Okay, boy, that’s enough,’ said Frankie, less than a minute later. He ushered Jonesy back over, who came at once, giddily skittering across the snow before once more settling itself on his shoulder.

  I turned my attention back to Brett.

  He was lying in the foetal position, eyes fixed on some point in the distance as snow rained down on him like God’s frozen tears, now a broken shell of a man. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I-I’ll talk...’

  Okay, so maybe I exaggerated a little on the whole “reading-minds” part—whatever. Still, results are results.

  ‘Where?’ I said.

  ‘The Devil’s Spire... In Merlot.’

  I blinked, surprised.

  The Devil’s Spire; an outcropping of rock the size of a small mountain, located the next town over—often lovingly referred to by local folk as “God’s Nipple”, because that was exactly what it looked like. Flat, sheared top, like the stump of a tree. A really big tree. Supposedly, it was millions of years old. The closest thing to a national monument this state has.

  I stepped back over to Frankie.

  ‘Well. Now we know where they’re planning on doing this thing,’ he said. He nuzzled Jonesy sat on his shoulder and my stomach twinged.

  I shook my head. ‘But we’re still no better off. I mean, shit, they’ll have a whole army of those fuckers over there. Just us two? We wouldn’t stand a chance.’

  We stood and watched the snow slowly covering the man formerly known as Brett as he lay quietly weeping on the ground.

  ‘So what do you want to do?’ said Frankie.

  I sighed.

  That was the question, wasn’t it? So we knew where Boot and her gang were—so what? Aside from the fact we were just a pair of hapless assholes, they outnumbered us a hundred to one. No way we’d be able to stop them by ourselves.

  ‘We need help,’ said Frankie.

  I whirled on him. ‘Help? From who? Chuck’s on location. Josh and Kenny are in Mexico. The president’s not interested and/or a dick. And even if we could somehow get a message to him, it’s unlikely he’d be able to get anybody here in time—not in these conditions, anyway.’

  Then, of course, there was Abby—though even with the direness of our current situation, there was still no way I was going to call her. Which on the surface might sound like a terrible decision, considering she was both smarter and braver than us—and it was. But still, if you love someone, and you’re about to take a spiraling nose-dive into Satan’s gaping, fiery butthole, you don’t pull that person along with you, do you?

  I shook my head.

  No. Better just the one of us go. And let’s be honest, she had a whole lot more to offer society than I did. Really, it was the only responsible thing to do.

  ‘So what do we do, then?’ repeated Frankie.

  I shrugged. ‘Looks like we’re on our own.’

  We were both silent a moment as we considered the gravity of this statement.

  Ordinarily, this is the part where I’d tell you how I suddenly nutted-up, how I simply said—fuck it all—and rode off into battle, all stoic and brave and knightly, undeterred by the overwhelming odds stacked against us. How I gallantly marched my horse right up to the enemy’s defences, sword raised high, shouting things about honour and freedom as I fought desperately to keep the tears of utter terror from smearing my face-paint.

  Sure, it’s a nice image. The selfless hero, nobly giving his life so that others may live. And hell, everybody likes a sacrifice—especially when it’s for the greater good, and you’re not the one doing the sacrificing.

  Thing is, they’ve got it all wrong. There’s nothing brave or glorious about killing yourself—no matter how you dress it up, or whose name you do it in. In reality, the only people sacrificing themselves for the greater good these days are over-confident assholes and people too stupid to fear death. It’s unnatural. And besides, I didn’t even have a horse.

  I thought it over.

  Of course, if I didn’t go, everybody I’d ever known or loved would be brutally murdered to death by monsters.

  So there was that to consider, too.

  I shook my head.

  I just didn’t know what to do.

  Frankie sighed. ‘Well, I guess we could always—’

  He was interrupted by the sudden sound of a vehicle approaching.

  We both tensed and turned our faces back to the road, waiting to see if we were about to get brutally murdered to death or whatever.

  The vehicle rounded the corner.

  It was a panel van. Navy-blue. Chrome rims.

  It pulled over in the snow a half a dozen yards or so away. A moment later, the door opened, and—

  I stared.

  ‘Mr G?!’

  He trudged over to us, handsome face pinched against the snow, beige trench coat flapping all over the damn place, reminding me once more of a cape.

  He nodded. ‘Hello, Dan.’

  I frowned.

  Wait—how did he even know where to find us? What, does he have us on fucking tag, or something?

  He nodded a greeting to Frankie, who nodded back. He didn’t seem overly concerned by the fact there was a multi-eyed penis monster currently dragging-dick all over Frankie’s shoulder—which, really, if there was ever something to be concerned about, this was it. I mean, goddamn. To be fair, though, walking the circles he did, he probably saw shit like this all the time. But still.

  He looked back and forth between us, the light reflecting back at me from his perfectly shaped cheekbones and blinding my eyes. He wasn’t dying anymore either, I noticed—which, ordinarily, would have given me pause for thought, though with everything I’d seen over the past few days now barely made me raise an eyebrow. ‘I hear you boys are in need of some help.’

  Frankie and I shared a glance.

  Frankie said, ‘Uh... yeah, how did you—?’

  Mr G raised his fingers to his lips and whistled.

  Immediately the van’s backdoors flew open and a small gaggle of men jumped out. Again, I say “men”. Guy in short-shorts and a Yankees cap, his body covered in blister-pink scales. Another guy in a parka, who at a glance looked mostly normal—that was, until you caught a glimpse of him in your peripheral vision, and saw him for what he really was; a hair-covered, spidery-looking thing, with thick, snapping mandibles for a mouth. Long, snake-like appendage for a tongue. But you get my point.

  Oh look. The cavalry has arrived. Hurrah.

  I peered around them at the van. ‘Uh, not to be a dick about it or anything, but I don’t suppose you got any more back there?’ I mean, sure, it didn’t look like it could’ve held any more people, but you never know.

  Before he could answer, there was the sound of another car approaching.

  We all turned to watch as the coffee-coloured, boxy-looking sedan jerked to a stop beside the panel van, headlights punching dual lines through the snow.

  I blinked.

  Oh you have got to be kidding me.

  Detective Espinosa climbed out of
the sedan and paused a moment to pull her jacket tighter around her before quickly joining us on the snow.

  ‘Mr Pratt,’ she said, offering me a nod. She looked round at the half a dozen—for lack of a better word—“monsters”, standing next to the panel van and, to my complete surprise, nodded.

  She let out a breath. ‘So—looks like I was wrong about you, after all,’ she said, having to shout a little over the wind. ‘Guess I owe you an apology.’

  ‘Yeah.’ She did.

  Instead, she said, ‘Your friend here tells me the world’s about to end, that you’re the only one who can stop it. That true?’

  I snuck a glance at Mr G, who gave me a thumbs-up.

  Bastard.

  I cleared my throat. ‘Well, actually—’

  ‘Then you’re going to need all the help you can get.’ She reached behind her and pulled out her service pistol, cocked it, being—what I thought—overly dramatic.

  I stared around at them all, all those stupid, hopeful faces.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate the gesture—I did. But that didn’t make it any less redundant. We were still pants-wettingly outnumbered, with—by my count—only the one gun between us. I mean, sure, there were the several dozen or so in Uncle Ger’s Shed of Wonders, but really with all that porn in there too, there was no way of knowing what kinds of cross-contamination might have occurred. Was it-gun-to-porn, or-porn-to-gun? Because that’s a lot of hands in a lot of different places, folks. Even if the fate of the universe was in jeopardy, that’s no excuse for not using proper precaution.

  ‘Guys,’ I said, not wanting to be a party-pooper, but unable to help myself. ‘Listen. We’re outnumbered. I mean, hell, the only way we’d stand a chance is if we had a—’

  I paused as an idea struck me like a rogue lightning bolt.

  It was so simple. So obvious. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before.

  I turned to Espinosa, frowning furiously. ‘How well do you know your boss?’

  She looked at me sideways for a moment, unsure if I was being serious. ‘We’re... pretty tight, I guess. Why?’

  Frankie turned to look at me, eyes wide with sudden understanding. ‘Wait—are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

  ‘Probably not,’ I said. I turned back to Espinosa. ‘Okay—I’m going to need you to make some phone calls.’